Sorry is Not an Excuse
by TruantPony
Summary: Chapter 11: Let's make this easy- She wears a false body and this world doesn't belong to her.
1. Warm

Warm

**A/N:** Lately, I've been thinking about Bleach alot, so I'll just have to write about it. IxR is my favorite Bleach non-couple, simply because they're so flawed and realistic. Oh, and they're just FUN to write. This chapter is mindless fluff. Emphasis on the mindless. Drop me a review if you liked it (or even if you didn't).

**Summary/Theme:**

From the top of his orange head to his brown eyes and golden skin, Ichigo has always radiated warmth.

****Rating: T**- **for innuendo.

**Standard Disclaimer:**

Bleach is solely the property of Kubo Tite, and I am merely borrowing his playground.

* * *

><p>It's the middle of a record-breaking summer when their AC unit breaks down. Typical. There's a million things he needs to do tomorrow but it's so DAMN hot, he can't even contemplate falling asleep! Enviously, he looks over at Rukia, who has draped herself over him.

It's so hot that he can't stand anything touching him at the moment, even Rukia. "Rukia," he groans quietly, "get off! It's too hot." Squirming out from under her, he pushes with his hands and feet until she rolls off like a limp sack of potatoes.

"Hnn...cold," she mumbles sleepily, not even bothering to awaken and commiserate with him in sweaty temperature induced misery. Then she rolls over and once again situates herself into his lean frame. How anyone can be cold wearing a long nightgown to sleep in _this_ kind of heat is beyond Ichigo's comprehension.

"Rukia, I'm serious, stay on your side," he warns, scooting over. There's not much bed left.

She's been seeking him out all night like a...well like a heat-seeking missile. In the process, she has conquered most of the bed. He watches her warily from the last foot of bed left and when she doesn't move or make a sound, he finds it safe enough to close his eyes and drift into a fitful sleep.

Moments (or is it hours?) later he rolls right off the bed and hits the hardwood floor with a loud thump.

Rukia flails out of the blankets, kido spell glowing in her hand. "Wha? Hollow? Where?"

Ichigo drops his face into his open palms. Not for the first time, the thought crosses his mind- _this woman is dangerous._

"Ichigo?" she calls in a hushed sleepy voice. "What are you doing on the floor?" She's sitting up and her nightgown billows out around her.

"I'm trying to sleep. And you're NOT helping!" The last part comes out rather harsher than he intended, and she blinks at him, somewhat taken aback.

"I'm no expert on human sleeping behaviors, but perhaps it might help if you got _in_ the bed," she replies dryly.

"I refuse!" he says crossing his arms angrily. "I'm not getting into bed until you change your sleeping attire." He glares at her garment with much disgust, vowing to throw the thing out the next time it's his turn to do laundry.

"What's wrong with my pajamas? They're warm. They're my favorite," she says pointing to the bunny print.

"How can you stand to wear them when it's so HOT?" he asks, at a loss. "I get hot just looking at you." That last sentence didn't come out the way he meant it.

Rukia, the consummate actress clutches the neckline of her nightgown with one hand while the other rests on her cheek. "Oho, so aggressive tonight, Kurosaki-kun! Please be gentle with me, I am inexperienced-"

"There's something wrong with you," he says evenly. She's been wearing an awful lot of heavy clothing recently, and granted he did like to blast the air conditioning on as high as he could, but right now this is ridiculous. The room is boiling.

His suspicions are confirmed when her eyes lower and dart to the side. "What's going on, Rukia?"

"There's nothing wrong with _me_," she says irritably. "Something is wrong with this body. It won't stay at the normal temperature. It always feels cold," she explains.

Ichigo gets up off the floor and sits by her side on the bed. The springs creak under his added weight. He brings up his hand and touches her cheek gently and when she lays her hand over his, it is icy cold. It feels kind of good, actually.

"You're right," he concedes, rubbing her small hand between his. "You're freezing." He feels a moment of guilt for not noticing earlier. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Rukia's smile tells him that he needn't be so concerned. "It didn't happen until recently, and only when it started getting hot. Maybe the body was trying to overcompensate for the heat?"

"Could it be your reiatsu affecting it somehow?" he wonders aloud. She wields the element of ice, after all.

"It could be. That's a good thought," she commends. "Anyway," she says, tapping a fist against her chest, "I'm going to bring it to Urahara for a tune-up tomorrow. I'm due for one, so I guess we'll look under the hood and find out what's wrong."

It somehow bothers Ichigo that she talks about her fake body the same way that people talk about their car.

"Don't make that face," she says sharply, looking over at him.

"What face?" he asks, scowling at her.

"Your worried face," she replies. "There's nothing to worry about."

"I'm not worried," he responds. He knows by now that she hates it when he worries unnecessarily. Though when it comes to her, he can't help it. Ichigo is a compulsive worrier.

He watches her as she pinches the skin on her forearm between her thumb and index finger, muttering under her breath, "Stupid gigai...stupid Urahara."

Sighing, he slides off the bed, slouches towards the window and opens it. Then he cranks up the fan.

He stops before the bed, peels off his t-shirt, and drops it on the floor. The shirt is damp with sweat and Ichigo has a momentary urge to take a bath. After a moment of consideration, he kicks off his boxers too.

Rukia's eyes roam his body with a gleam of feminine appreciation. "I thought you wanted to sleep," she says.

"I do. But you're cold, and I'm hot," he says scratching the back of his head. "Just lie on top of me; I'll keep you warm. We won't need the sheets tonight."

She makes room for him on the bed and he slides in next to her. He feels utterly naked and shameless, but it's their house, so who cares? There's no one to see them (or surprise attack them), and the breeze coming through the window feels heavenly. Ichigo can feel Rukia's cool body through her nightgown as she presses up against his side. He closes his eyes and tries to enjoy it.

Her hand rubs cold soothing patterns on his chest and then slowly drifts down past his hips. He catches her slim wrist and gives her a warning squeeze.

"As I _said_, I'm trying to sleep, and you're not helping." He opens up a sleepy eye at her. She's smiling up at him, alluring gaze filled with flirtatious mischief.

"It never hurt your sleep before," she says slyly, tracing the outline of his obliques. His stomach muscles quiver under her cool fingers.

The idea is...tempting. But he is tired and the thought of the heat they'll generate just about kills him.

"I'm calling the A/C guy tomorrow," he says firmly, pulling her cool body closer and settling his chin on top of her head.

"Hmm, alright," she says, unfazed by his non-sequitur. Rukia always seems to understand what he's saying.

"Warm," she mumbles into his chest sleepily.

"Yeah," he replies in a soft voice, before drifting off to sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Omake<strong>

Ichigo waves to the next door neighbor. "Good morning Mrs. Tanaka."

She gives him a suspicious look and scurries back inside her house, slamming the door.

"Geez, what's wrong with her?" he asks aloud.

Beside him, Rukia snickers. "You forgot to close the window this morning."

"Ah...WHAT?"


	2. Shirt

Shirt

**Summary/Theme: **Shirt- He doesn't know what to think when she borrows his clothes.

**A/N:** These stories won't go in any order whatsoever, unless indicated. They don't follow any particular time-line and jump back and forth and might even be AU. I'll be letting you guys know when and where each story takes place from now on, so there will be no confusion.

This chapter is an explanation of sorts for the title of this series of drabbles and one-shots. Thanks for reading!

**Timeline:** Pre-SS, Karakura

**Warnings:** None! Rated K+ for all audiences.

**Standard Disclaimer: **Bleach is solely the property of Kubo Tite, and I am merely borrowing his playground.

* * *

><p>Ichigo stares at her, unable to to believe what he was seeing. <em>My shirt...Rukia is in my shirt...a GIRL is wearing my shirt<em>, he thinks, stunned. It's one of his favorites, the green one with white print on the front that reads, "Sorry is NOT an excuse" in big blocky letters.

It's tight on him, just the way he likes it and the cotton material is soft, broken in by going through many cycles in the washing machine. On Rukia, it looks huge. It goes down almost to her knees and the neckline is slipping off to the side, exposing one pale narrow shoulder. The effect is innocently alluring and makes his stomach feel like it is doing flips in his abdominal cavity.

"You stole my shirt!" he yells, pointing at her accusingly.

"It is not _stealing_ if I intend to return it," she retorts, walking past him as she towel dries her hair.

"Give it back," he demands, holding out a hand.

"Look, I had to wash Yuzu's pajamas at some point in time. I don't have anything else to sleep in," she says with a placating expression. "I'm not going to permanently damage your shirt by just sleeping in it."

"That's what you think," Ichigo mutters. He'll never be able to wear that shirt again without thinking about her slim body being in it.

"Besides, what would you have me do, run around unclothed?" she asks.

He wishes she hadn't said that, because his mind short circuits when he desperately tries to keep away the images that one innocent statement produces. He stares at her blankly, jaws slack.

"Hmph, of course you do. You're a boy. Why did I even ask," she says, and the eerie, knowing look she gives him makes him think that she has mind reading powers. She turns around and smoothes down the shirt primly.

"W-What? NO!" he manages to stammer, metaphorical steam pouring out of his ears. More emphatically, he adds, "Who would want to see a shrimp like you run around without clothes? That happens to be my favorite shirt and I want it back."

She kicks him in the shins, hard. "Oh my, someone never learned how to share," she says in her syrupy voice before hopping into her makeshift bed in his closet.

"I'm borrowing it for a couple of nights, only until Yuzu's pajamas are out of the wash. I promise you I'll wash it and give it back, no worse for wear," she says gently. Her normally expressive eyes are shuttered, giving nothing away.

"Uh..." Before he has a chance to respond, she slides the closet door shut. Ichigo can't help the feeling of guilt that swamps him. There was no way he could have missed the slightly tense shoulders, the momentary flash of hurt, before she drew up her walls once again.

oOooOooOo

"Get off my bed," he says by way of greeting. It feels like she's all over his room these days and for some reason, it has begun to irritate him in a way he cannot define. Seeing her on his bed, in his clothes gives him strange and queasy feelings in his pit of his stomach.

She stops doodling on her art pad and turns to look at him over her shoulder. "Here," she says, and tosses a bundle of green fabric at him.

He looks down at the shirt in his hands and grips it tightly for a second. Then he tosses it back. "Keep it," he says nonchalantly. It lands on top of her dark head.

"I thought it was your favorite," she says, pulling the shirt off her head and giving him a confused look.

"It's yours now. You can use it as a spare," he says looking off to the side and scratching the back of his head.

She scrutinizes him for a moment before looking down. "I'll never understand you humans," she says quietly.

"I'll never understand your crappy drawings," he retorts out of reflex. He immediately regrets it when her art pad makes contact with his face. Recoiling from the impact and clutching his nose, he is about to let fly all manner of nasty curses when she looks up at him, meets his brown eyes with her own.

"Thanks," she says softly. She does not smile; Ichigo has yet to see a genuine expression of untarnished joy on her face. He doesn't think the steely Kuchiki Rukia is capable of such an expression as a smile, but when he looks into her eyes and sees the glimmer in them, the softness in their violet depths, he knows it's a close thing.

_Some day, I'm gonna make you smile._ The thought comes and goes as quickly as a fish that darts out of a still pond. Not for a moment does he regret giving her his favorite shirt.

A few days later, he finds a wrapped package on his bed. Approaching it cautiously, he sees a badly drawn picture of a bunny on it with a speech bubble that says 'To Ichigo'. He shakes his head at Rukia's characteristically bad drawing.

Unwrapping it, he finds a shirt inside. It's maroon with a graphic print of a giant scythe splashed across the front. On the lower corner, in white print, it reads, "fear no edge".

The frown across his brows ease up as his eyes soften. Somehow, she managed to pick out a shirt that is totally his style. It's like a tongue in cheek statement, a private joke that they share just between the two of them, a subtle nod to his soul reaper duties. He finds himself liking it, a lot. He will wear it with pride.

"Rukia," he whispers gently, a rare smile pulling up his lips, as he closes his hand around the shirt. _Thank you._

* * *

><p><strong>Omake<strong>

Ichigo smooths a hand down the front of the t-shirt.

"How does it fit?" Rukia asks casually.

"Good." He can tell it's going to be his new favorite. "Where'd you get the money for this?"

Rukia blinks at him innocently. "From your wallet."

"..."


	3. Call Me a Liar

Call Me a Liar

**Summary/Theme:**

Written in response to a prompt from Hese Solstis- Call me a liar: Can Ichigo and Rukia have a serious, unabashed conversation about their future without resorting to antagonism, violence, and petty insults?

**A/N:** This prompt eventually made me want to pull out my hair. It is heavily edited, but even so, I find myself...dissatisfied. Nevertheless, I hope it is to your liking and that you can enjoy it for the bit of mindless fluff that it is.

A great big thanks to everyone who reviewed. Know that you made my day!

**chOOnyOung17, Hese Solstis, amehoshi141, curio cherry, sallythedestroyerofworlds23, belle, Beijing Girl, teshichan, CJ.**

**Timeline:** Post-Bleach

**Warnings:** OOC...? I'll let the reader be the judge.

**Standard Disclaimer:** Bleach is solely the property of Kubo Tite, and I am merely borrowing his playground.

* * *

><p>"I think we should get married," Ichigo announced one Sunday afternoon during the monthly Kurosaki Family Outing.<p>

On a hill overlooking the park, Karin and Yuzu could be seen throwing a flying disk back and forth, playing keep-away from Isshin.

Rukia merely laughed. "You think? How did you come to this conclusion?" She pushed off the picnic blanket by her elbows and fixed a curious gaze on him.

"It would save lives," he replied seriously, looking up at her from his prone spot on the blanket.

He was lying at a right angle from her with arms crossed behind his head, pillowing his ridiculously bright hair. His lanky frame, too long to be accommodated by the blanket, sprawled out onto the cool grass lawn.

"I don't quite follow," she said, digging through the picnic basket and pulling out two juice boxes. She tossed him one and he caught it deftly in midair.

"Because," he said looking at her meaningfully, "if they try to marry you off to some noble, I might just have to go and beat the living shit out of them. At least maim them."

"Ah..._that_," Rukia said. "That won't happen," she said waving her hands dismissively. "I'm not going to get married off."

"Does Byakuya despised me that much?" Ichigo asked thoughtfully.

Rukia bit back a smile. Her brother and Ichigo didn't see eye to eye on most topics. "He just thinks you're loud and disrespectful. He doesn't despise you," she said reassuringly.

Ichigo gave her a sharp look that said, _oh really, could've fooled me._

"Then why is he setting up all these meetings between you and those nobles?" he asked with great suspicion.

"It's clan politics, Ichigo," Rukia explained patiently. "My brother is actually doing us a great favor. What he's doing will buy time and keep the Clan Elders at bay. Once I've rejected the potential suitors, they'll leave us alone for the next decade or so. Nobody expects me to choose on my first run."

"I take it I'm not on the list of suitable suitors," he said turning to her and raising one sardonic orange eyebrow.

"Your presumptions are accurate. If there was a list, your name would be nowhere near it," she said, smirking. There was an affectionate gleam in her eyes.

Ichigo's hand clenched the juice box convulsively. A stream of liquid shot out of the straw. "That's bullshit," he muttered angrily. "I'm the only one remotely interested!"

Rukia's fine eyebrow twitched in aggravation. "You say that like I am incapable of finding other prospects aside from you," she said in a low dangerous tone.

Ichigo, wary of the deadly Kuckiki elbow, wisely said nothing and sulked in mulish silence with a pinched and disgruntled expression on his face.

Rukia gave him an unreadable look. "These meetings...they're not as you imagine. It's more like a business meeting, where we discuss a...potential merger between two companies. To the offering clans, I am an asset to be considered for acquisition, not a person. Whatever you think, know that I am not enjoying myself."

Ichigo winced, feeling stupid and petty. He clenched his hand angrily. Of course Rukia wouldn't enjoy being paraded in front of other people like some object.

"You trust me, don't you?" Rukia asked, looking directly at him. They were both lying on their sides, facing each other, barely half a meter of distance separating them.

"With my life," Ichigo answered without hesitating. _I have never doubted you for an instant. _

"You'll just have to share me for a little while longer," she said, softly apologetic.

"I hate sharing," he grouched, eyebrows drawn together steeply.

"It's not your strong suit," she agreed. Underneath his flippant and casual attitude, Rukia could tell he really was bothered by the situation. Deep down, she would be lying if she said she wasn't just a tiny bit flattered by his possessiveness.

"Don't worry, Kuchikis never _allow_ themselves to be married off," she stated confidently. Kuchikis, from what Rukia learned and experienced herself, were not easy to love, nor do they love easily, but when they did, it was a deep and abiding kind of love. As stoic as the entire clan was, there was a certain unspoken leeway given to them when choosing a spouse. Closet romantics, the lot of them.

"Who says I'm worrying," Ichigo shot back even as his hand grasped hers, sword calloused thumb rubbing her skin in small circles. In response, she sent a burst of cool reiatsu to wash over him. He sighed and relaxed imperceptibly, closing his eyes.

"Seriously, though...will you marry me, Rukia?" he trailed off with a hopeful lilt to his low voice.

The sounds in the park seemed to cease all together and the only thing that could be heard was the soft rustle of the breeze sifting through the canopy of leaves on the tree above them.

Rukia rolled onto her stomach and reached her hand out, gliding it against the sharp angle of his jawline and into his soft orange hair. He leaned into her caress. She smiled gently at the color that crept across his cheekbones and he smiled back, not breaking eye contact.

"No," she said plainly.

_Rejected!_ Ichigo gaped at her unattractively as he sat up on the blanket. "Why?" he asked, mouth pulled down into a flat unhappy line and brows set into a dark scowl.

She frowned at him, sitting up as well. "Why can't you take no for an answer?"

"Why can't you answer my damn question?" Ichigo asked, scowling so hard, his eyebrows hurt.

"Do you have to answer my question with another question?"

"Do you?" he spat.

They glared at each other heatedly before crossing their arms and turning away in a huff.

In the distance, Isshin could be seen leaping in the air and catching the flying disk with his teeth, much in the manner of a retriever. Karin was stomping her feet angrily as Yuzu waved her hands in a placating manner.

Ichigo pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes in frustration. "What is it, Rukia? Is it my age?"

She gave him an arch look. "Do you think it is an issue?"

"Age is relative. It's not that you're older, I was just born late," he said.

"You're a late-bloomer," she agreed.

"But I'm a fast learner," he reminded her. "Lucky you," he smirked.

"Only because you have a good teacher...lucky _you_," she corrected him, matching his smirk.

"Okay, age not an issue..." Ichigo cupped his chin in his hands thoughtfully. "Are you afraid that I won't be able to provide?" He had a scowl on his face again. "I might not have money coming out of my ass like Byakuya, but I am gainfully employed. I'm not some bum, you know. I can take care of you."

Rukia blinked. That was actually very sweet. "You forget, Ichigo, that I too am gainfully employed by the Gotei 13. In addition to that, I have all of the Kuchiki resources at my disposal, so I don't need anyone to take care of me. I am fully capable of taking care of myself," she said proudly.

"Finances, not an issue," he murmured, raking a hand through his hair.

"I knew it!" Ichigo exclaimed, slamming his fist into the palm of his hand. "It's Byakuya! He won't let you-"

"Ichigo," Rukia interrupted, "I'm sure if you asked _really_ nicely, he wouldn't say no."

"Then what is it?" Ichigo asked, bewildered.

Rukia gave him a hard look that said- _must you be so dense?_ "Different _worlds_, Ichigo. It is neither practical nor convenient because I'm not a permanent resident of the Living World and you are not yet dead."

"Practical...and convenient?" He was stunned. _Why couldn't she act like a normal girl sometimes?_ But then again, he suspected that he wouldn't love her half as much as he did if she were a normal girl and not the shinigami Kuchiki Rukia who fought and bled and nearly died for him.

"I can't stay in the human world with you. I have duties and I won't be able to share fully in your human life. I may be absent for long stretches of time."

"I understand that," Ichigo said gently. "I'm not asking you to give up everything that you are. It won't be much different from what we're doing now, only more official."

"What if you regret it?" she asked quietly. "Don't forget that death won't be the end of us, like most humans. It's still early, you have your whole life ahead of you. And then there's Soul Society. Why make hasty decisions?

"I have never regretted a single thing that has to do with you. Someday I'll be a permanent resident of Soul Society. Why wait until then to have what I already know I want now?"

He pulled her closer to him, between his outstretched legs and circled his arms around her. "Did you know that there is a human saying- 'Till death do us part'. Look around you," he gestured broadly around the park. "Each of these people will be parted from their loved ones when they die. You and I will defy that fate. Death won't end us, and that is a very comforting thought."

Rukia exhaled a forcible sigh and leaned her head against his chest. She fit right under his chin. "Even so, I can't give you a normal life."

Ichigo had already had a taste of what a normal life felt like and it completely sucked. "I don't want normal," he said in a rough edged voice, shifting uncomfortably.

He could feel the tense hesitation in her body. "Why ruin what we have right now?" she wondered quietly. "Besides," she said looking out of the corner of her eye at him, "every certified couple I know has ended up in a bad way." She drew her index finger across her throat in a slitting motion.

He peered at her closely, looking for that impish glint in her eyes. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether she was joking or not.

"Kuchiki Rukia, afraid of death. Refusing me because you're a coward," he said tauntingly.

"I'm no coward! It's you I'm worried about, you reckless fool," she said in exasperation, shooting him a long suffering expression.

Whatever hidden meaning he saw in her expression or heard in her words seemed to please him. His lips curled upwards at the corners in a small smile. "Well, you shouldn't worry because I'm very hard to get rid of, as you well know. By our 500th anniversary, you'll be slipping poison in my tea. Or smothering me in my sleep."

"If you grow to be any more of an ass than you already are, I don't doubt it. And I've already tried to smother you in your sleep; it didn't work."

"See, refining your methods already. We'll be fine."

For a moment, neither said anything, just taking in the sunshine, the sounds of the park, and the breeze that swept over the blades of green grass at their feet. Ichigo had crossed his arms over Rukia, pulling her small frame close to his. She leaned into him, eyes closed.

"If you'll have me, I'll stand by your side, always. If you don't believe me, then call me a liar," he said quietly.

After a moment, Rukia sighed. "I can't," she said, defeated.

What they have between them had withstood every test. They had carried each other home after bloody battles, stormed heaven and hell, and beaten the worst of odds, not to mention broken all the natural laws of the universe just to return to each other. There was nothing that they wouldn't do for the other's sake. Their bond was unassailable, untouchable, and unbreakable.

"Then quit making excuses and just say yes," he said, kissing the tip of her ear.

She was momentarily quiet and still and in the unpredictable way that was vintage Rukia, she turned around, pulled her arm back, and decked him in the chest.

"Owww!" he wheezed. What was that for?"

"For being a sap," Rukia replied evenly. Then, she leaned forward, grasped his shoulders, and placed her soft lips over his.

"What was _that_ for?" Ichigo gasped, dazed when she finally pulled back.

"For being a sap," Rukia answered gently, as her slender nimble fingers caressed his cheek.

Ichigo frowned playfully, winding a strand of her soft dark hair around his finger. "I'm getting mixed signals...is that a yes?"

"Of course it is, you idiot," the soft look in her eyes was full of exasperated affection. "Someone has to keep you in line, and I suppose this heavy burden has fallen upon me."

"What a martyr you are," he remarked dryly.

Unable to help herself, Rukia smiled, innocently unaware of how luminous she looked under the dappled sunlight filtering down between the tree branches.

She rose from the blanket and dusted off her dress. "Let's go play frisbee with your family. Last one there is a rotten chicken."

Ichigo barely managed to catch her sentence as she took off towards the area of the park where Karin was stomping Isshin into a pulp as Yuzu watched anxiously nearby.

"It's rotten egg, Rukia, rotten egg!" he yelled, running after her.

oOooOooOo

_Many years later:_

"Welcome back," Rukia said, without turning around. Her senses were acutely tuned to his reiatsu and probably knew the moment he opened a senkaimon back to Soul Society.

"It's good to be home," Ichigo answered. The doors to the courtyard were slid opened and the bright moonlight streamed into the room, washing everything in a soft blue glow. He padded softly across the floor and sat down, cross-legged beside her.

She wore a soft summer yukata tonight, it was lavender and blue, with a buttery yellow obi. Her hair was pinned up at the nape of her neck, exposing the graceful line of her throat. By the light of the moon, she looked lovely and in the manner of someone stating a fact, he told her so.

The warm smile she gave him made his hands itch to pull out her hairpins, untie the bow, but he held himself back, content just to be near her. His mission had been extended and he missed her fiercely. It was a nice night and he wanted to enjoy it with her. He noticed she had gotten the good sake out.

"Drinking by yourself? That is considered unhealthy," he smirked.

"I had to console myself somehow, when I sensed you were back," she quipped without missing a beat.

"You can't get rid of me that easily," he said, stealing the sake dish from her hands and taking a sip.

"Not for lack of trying on my part," she said dryly.

"You must not have tried very hard, because I'm still here," he said, going along with her teasing.

They lapsed into a comfortable lull in conversation. Perhaps it was the sake, or the ambience of the summer night. Ichigo felt his tongue loosen.

"I'll always be here," he said quietly.

Rukia leaned her head against his shoulder. "I know. That's why I have never called you a liar."

**Fin**


	4. Sick

Sick

**Summary/Theme: **You know it's love when you're willing to hold their hair up while they vomit.

**A/N: **I didn't intend to post again so soon but it was my 5 year anniversary yesterday, so here's a drabble in honor of the occasion. Enjoy!

As always, thank you to the wonderful people who left honest opinions on my work and encouraged me to keep on indulging in my guilty pleasure:

**Eribell, Insane Fangirl 4, belle, sallythedestroyerofworlds23, chOOnyOung17, Alyssa, curio cherry, teshichan, Beijing Girl**

**Timeline:** Post-Bleach

**Warnings:** Drabble- suitable for all audiences, rated K.

**Standard Disclaimer:** Bleach is solely the property of Kubo Tite, and I am merely borrowing his playground.

* * *

><p>Rukia is dry heaving into the toilet. This is the second time today and Ichigo rubs her back in sympathy as he holds her dark hair up and out of the way. When she makes no move to lever herself up from her penitent position in front of the porcelain throne, he unfolds his legs from under him and grabs a washrag.<p>

Ichigo sticks the washrag under the sink and waits for it to become saturated with cold water. Wringing out the excess, he folds it into a square and hands it to Rukia, who gives him a grateful look.

They sit across from each other on the cold bathroom tiles. Water drips in the sink, and somewhere in the house a clock is ticking away the seconds in an inexorable beat. The sounds of passing cars and birdsong drift in from the outside world as if from a great distance.

Ichigo observes her carefully. Rukia's face looks ashen, sweaty, and clammy. There are dark purplish circles under her eyes, and her cheeks are hollowed out under sharp cheekbones. She looks much too thin. The sympathy quickly melts into guilt.

"Feeling better?" he asks gruffly.

She's patting her cheek with the cloth as she opens one eye. The look she throws him is one of abject misery tinged with accusation.

Slowly, she shakes her head. "I've never felt so sick in my whole entire life."

It's true, Rukia doesn't get sick, at least not like this. He's seen her choked, stabbed, concussed, poisoned, and run through with a sword, but he's never seen her vomit. Renji used to call her 'steel-stomach Kuchiki'. She's never even gotten the flu or food poisoning. This near constant emesis must be a wretched new experience for her.

He rubs her back in soothing circles. "It's ok. It's just vomiting. It will be over before you know it."

"But so much...is this normal?" she asks looking up at him with no small amount of worry.

"Well, in your case it seems pretty severe, but then again your blood hCG level is extremely high..."

Her eyes narrow at him in annoyance. "And in plain-speak that means?"

He gives her a sly smile. "Twins do run in our family, Rukia. There's a chance-"

If at all possible, her face pales even further and takes on a greenish hue. Her sharp elbow darts out and nails him in the stomach. "Wow. Stop talking."

Still smiling warmly, Ichigo rubs his sore stomach. In the most sickeningly sweet voice he can muster (he learned from a master after all), he says, "Love you too...honey."

Her only response is more dry heaving in the toilet.

* * *

><p><strong>Omake:<strong> (a.k.a. Sick- Take two)

"Hmm," Isshin ponders as he holds his chin thoughtfully between two fingers.

He, Ichigo, and Rukia squint at the grainy black-and-white image on the sonogram monitor.

Ichigo rubs his face tiredly. "Don't 'hmm' us old man, just tell us if it's one or two." There is an edge of anxiety in his voice.

"Congratulations!" Isshin smiles widely, flipping two thumbs up to Ichigo and Rukia. "I'm going to be a granddad..."

"Shouldn't you be congratulating _us_?" Rukia wonders absently, still staring at the monitor.

"To twin grand babies!" Isshin finishes dramatically.

"Oh shit!" Ichigo shouts, eyes wide. He looks over at Rukia, who shares this sentiment. She looks like she's going to pass out. Or throw up again.

"Just kidding! There's only one." He claps Ichigo on the shoulder. "My boy! You have yet to achieve the virility of your old man! You'll have to try harder."

Ichigo turns to Rukia, cracking his knuckles menacingly. "You want me to hit him? Or do you want to do the honors?"

"Why don't you hold him down..." Rukia says darkly, rolling her shoulders.


	5. March On

March On

**Theme/Summary:** Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy. - F. Scott Fitzerald

**A/N:** I saw the quote and it sparked a gift from the muse to spring out of me. It seems that I can't write anything else but Bleach these days...it is frustrating me to no end.

As usual, a huge thanks goes to everyone who reviewed or is following my work both in this fandom and elsewhere. I am very touched by your kindness. Thank you, thank you, thank you all:

**Vera Rozalsky, rexiebones, Insane Fangirl 4, curio cherry, Pyon1234, amehoshi141, Alyssa, SilverStella, sallythedestroyerofworlds23, Hese Solstis, 09ice, chOOnyOung17, CJ, cruorem, Kuroi-cho-tsuki-shiro**

**Timeline:** Post-Deicide, moving on into Lost Agent and FullBring Arc. Consistent up to Ch. 456, beyond that is guess-work and imagination.

**Warnings:** Heavy angst. This one-shot is not of the humor variety. Sorry!

**Standard Disclaimer:** Bleach is solely the property of Kubo Tite, and I am merely borrowing his playground.

* * *

><p>"<em>Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy."<em>

Four students freeze when they hear this quote. The instructor continues on, blithely ignorant of the hero and tragedy sitting in the midst of the class.

The instructor of their world literature class likes to pick obscure quotes by western authors for them to analyze and write papers on. It's supposed to 'broaden their horizons'.

Ichigo takes notes diligently and tries to ignore the three other people in the class who are pointedly not staring at him. They are pointedly not staring at him _so_ hard that they might as well turn around and gawk. He suddenly feels very hot under his collar. The world seems to constrict claustrophobically, and Ichigo tugs at his tie, fights the urge to run.

oOooOooOo

_A hero._

He would have loved to dissect the quote to pieces if it didn't hit so close to home.

How was he to know his trajectory, so bright and hopeful when he saved Rukia against impossible, staggering odds, would regress infinitely, would take him to this? How was he to know that his meteoric rise to dizzying heights of success would precede a rapid and catastrophic descent. In his boyish naivety, he had assumed that death was the ultimate defeat. He has since learned that it is not so. Death is not the only defeat.

A hero's welcome is blind silence. He wonders if Rukia knew that. In his mind's eye he sees her fading out once more. He sees each and every detail, the hair that curls and flips upward at the nape of her neck, the sombre color of her eyes, the shadow of dark eyelashes, the way she looks up at him, unguarded and vulnerable. She poured her heart out to him in that gaze. Words do not have the capacity to tell him what she tells him with one look. He misses her with a longing that makes his whole body ache.

oOooOooOo

_A tragedy._

Ichigo can no longer see, nor act. There is the spirit world and his world, and once they used to overlap, but now there is an opaque veil that lies heavily in between. His soul no longer calls out to him. He is still, like a clockwork mechanism missing a crucial piece. All around him, the world marches onward, spins faster every day.

If he would have known that stopping Aizen meant forfeiting everything that he is (was), would he have used the final Getsuga Tensho? Would he submit himself to moonless nights? The answer is always yes. Did he understand what he was giving up at that moment in time? No. Not really. There was no other option than to defeat Aizen, and doing otherwise would sully his sincerity of purpose. He is 'one who protects'.

That is his flaw- his purpose is his desire to protect which overpowers any instinct for survival, and guides his hand even to self-immolation and sacrifice.

Ironically, his desire to protect is the very root of the destruction of his most cherished aspirations. He doesn't want to be a hero, he just wants to be a shinigami again.

oOooOooOo

_Show me._

Who he is is intimately tied up with her. She was his guide, and taught him the meaning of duty and what it meant to be a shinigami. He is 'one who protects', but she protected him. Rukia is the true north, and without her, he is lost. He feels aimless and adrift.

Everywhere he goes, he sees her outline. There is nothing in his life that has gone untouched by her. Her imprint is everywhere. She has perhaps touched every surface of his room. In the closet, the bedding she used sits tucked in a corner, unwashed since she last used it. It still smells faintly of her- the spicy aromatic sweetness of rue, rare lillies, and that cold otherworldly scent, distinctly hers. Underneath it all, is the faint metallic tang of blood and steel. She smells like no other girl he has ever met.

He is surrounded by friends, but strangely he feels all alone. For their sake, he can muster up convincing smiles, though they feel fake and wrong on his face. He feels his facial muscles pull strangely under his skin and he is not quite sure what he would see if he were to gaze at himself in a mirror.

He finds his eyes automatically dip down to the exact height her eyes would have been. When he speaks to people, the effect is a downcast gaze. It is not, as assumed, that he cannot meet their eyes. It's just that habits are hard to break.

There are things unrealized in his soul, he thinks as he remembers watching her fade before him. It really didn't shock him, the silent epiphany that unfurled between them as they watched the gap between their worlds widen and grow increasingly more insurmountable. After all, whenever he thought of the future (which was only rarely), it was always in the context of them and not him.

oOooOooOo

_I'll write you._

If everything belongs to something, then he belongs to her and she belongs to him. Ichigo thinks that there are invisible strings that tie things together. The strings that tie him to Rukia are too many to count. Ichigo has yet to see her face in over a year since their bittersweet parting. His moment of triumph was overshadowed by the tragedy of farewell. The sharp achy longing in his heart has melted into dull ache beneath his ribs, somewhere between his diaphragm and the base of his throat. In Rukia's place, the dull ache is now his constant companion.

Rukia is painfully, obviously, non-present. He does not blame her for it. But it still hurts nonetheless. It rubs him raw in ways that makes him think he'll never heal. He is simultaneously relieved and hurt when Keigo asks if he misses her. He is relieved because finally someone has said her name. It makes her seem more real to hear her name coming from lips other than his own. At the same time, it tears open half healed scabs and the dull ache flares painfully. He merely scoffs because no words could describe how his world is at a standstill when she is not around.

He frets at night and wonders how she is. There is no way to know, no way to get a message across. They are now a world apart and there is no way for him to bridge the gap that spans between the living and the dead.

He wonders if she visits as a soul, whether she is at his bedside right now. Ichigo wonders how he would feel to know that she was there even if he couldn't see her, whether it would make him happy and concludes that it doesn't because he doesn't like one way sympathies. What is the point if he can't see her in return?

His eyes linger on the windowsill at night, and he leaves it open in invitation. He imagines seeing a thin birdlike figure perched atop lamp posts outside. He imagines hearing the fluttering of heavy black cloth. And sometimes when his mental barriers are down, he imagines the soft feel of night-dark hair, and pale skin under his fingertips. He reasons that if he imagines hard enough, his will might make things come true. He whispers her name like a nightly prayer.

oOooOooOo

_A fucking tragedy._

The face he sees in the mirror is almost unrecognizable. It is his same orange hair, same eyes, nose, lips, but only powerless. Dark and ugly feelings stir, rise up and choke him until he can't stand the pathetic sight of himself. He drives his hand forward and the mirror falls from the frame in little glittering pieces.

No one says anything to him when he emerges out of the bathroom with hand cut and bleeding. Karin wordlessly gets the broom and dustpan and Yuzu runs to the clinic for rolls of gauze.

"I broke it," Ichigo says as his father gently wraps his hand in silence. "I'm sorry." He wasn't. Breaking the mirror was cathartic. He had never purposefully broken anything in his life except for himself. _Except them._

Later on, he saves a stranger from getting robbed. The man offers him ramen, which he refuses. Not long after, he joins the Xcution group. The moment he comes to regret it is not far off.

oOooOooOo

_Show me a hero._

He is running on blind panic. He feels as though he is living in a nightmare. Tsukishima has cut the bonds and the ties between him and his family, his friends. They stare at him as if he is the insane one for attacking their _friend_ Tsukishima, and he stares back, helplessly. He wants to save them, but he doesn't know how, so he runs.

Fear and desperation have a claw on his throat, and now it is rage and heartbroken despair as he watches Chad and Orihime beside Tsukishima. His comrades, brother and sister in arms, who had once sworn to lend him all their strength, who have promised to fight _for_ him, stand as opposing human shields.

At his side, Ginjou hisses in a dark whisper as Ichigo activates his FullBring, "You have to kill him, Ichigo. There is no other way!"

The fight draws on, and it feels like he has been dodging Chad and Orihime in what feels like the longest battle of his life. He cannot get to Tsukishima without hurting his friends. Eventually, Ishida appears and jumps into the fray. Quincy bow glowing with lambent blue energy, he dispatches two arrows distracting Orihime and Chad so that Ichigo can have a clear opening at Tsukishima.

Friends fighting friends on all sides; it is total and utter bedlam as Tsukishima, the orchestrator of the chaos stands smug and imperturbable in the midst of it. Ichigo needs no other encouragement as he advances, killing intent humming in his veins, blood roaring in his ears.

More interruptions in the form of his father and Urahara show up. His father holds a glowing sword in his left hand and reproach in his eyes.

"Don't do something you will later regret," Urahara says seriously, hat shadowing his eyes. It is all too much for Ichigo. He feels his sanity has been pulled too far, and something snaps.

His roar of rage echoes in his ears and it doesn't even sound human. He half lunges, rushing towards Tsukishima, who stands beyond his father and Urahara on the opposite side of the room. He sweeps past them, knocking the glowing sword from his father's hand. Both of them are too slow to stop him.

Tsukishima, however, is not. He shimmers, disappearing from sight and reappears behind Ichigo. Ichigo flinches in anticipation of a blow that doesn't come. He whips around, eyes wide.

Standing between him and Tsukishima is a familiar figure. Familiar and dear, long-awaited, slim, dark-haired Rukia raises her white sword in defiance and defense. Her shinigami uniform billows around her body from the momentum of her sudden stop in the midst of a flash-step. Her small frame fails to give a true notion of her strength as she holds Tsukishima back one-handed. Tsukishima leaps backward and regards her with a wary sort of ennui.

"Rukia," Ichigo manages to choke out in a thick agonized voice. Somewhere within his ribcage, his heart aches fiercely, with the sweetness of long yearning. He stares at her like a man dying in a desert stares at an oasis of water. His mouth is parched, and his throat is dry, and he can hardly believe she is real.

"Ichigo," she says, eyes still on the enemy. "Are you injured?" Her sword is still aimed at Tsukishima when she turns to look at him. _I am here_, she seems to say silently.

He swallows convulsively, adam's apple bobbing in his throat before answering hoarsely, "Nothing serious."

His brittle look, his bloodshot eyes, and his tired stance all tell her that he is _not_ ok. Her lips press into a thin grim line. "Sit tight one moment," and before he can answer, she disappears from view. She pops in behind Orihime and Chad who have just made a successful concerted effort against Ishida and deals them one blow each across the back of both their heads. They drop like stones. Once more she flashes back to his side.

"They are merely unconscious," she explains. "They will thank me later." Then she turns to Tsukishima and points her sword at him. "You," she addresses him coldly, "are a thief. You have stolen that which you do not have the right to even touch and for that, I will make sure you die a thief's death." Something flickers in Tsukishima's flat eyes.

"Now is your chance to kill him, while your friends are out of the way," Ginjou says, creeping up from behind them. Ichigo has forgotten he is there. Rukia has not.

"Be quiet," she says to Ginjou softly. "I will deal with you, but all in due time, so wait your turn." The soft tone does nothing to hide the dangerous edge. The look she gives him is full of dark anger. Her reiatsu rises refined and strong. It has a bite to it, and the cold pressure bears down on their enemies. Frost crackles at every window.

Ichigo finds himself in awe and wonder of her strength. Pride stirs in him; she has always been strong, but it seems that she has not been idle in these long months of absence.

She glances at him as she bends down to pick up the glowing blade his father dropped, slipping it into her obi sash. Beyond her, his father and Urahara have grabbed Ishida on either side and they disappear through the ruined wall of the mansion and out of his view.

"They're with us," she says unnecessarily, following in their direction, almost casually heedless of both Tsukishima and Ginjou. Almost. "This is a strategic retreat, Ichigo. Let's go."

He feels relieved as he wordlessly follows her. Ginjou is yelling something at him, and Tsukishima is asking in that expressionless way of his where they are going, but none of that matters to Ichigo anymore.

oOooOooOo

_End bond._

He will follow her wherever she chooses to lead him and not surprisingly, she leads him to Urahara's store. His father is here, and so is Urahara and Ishida. He can sense them dimly, though they are nowhere in sight.

Rukia has a hand on his forearm as she leads him into one of the many rooms behind the store and slides the shoji door shut behind her. They stand, staring at each other for a moment, just like last time.

Just like last time, there are things they say to each other without words, a moment of sacred silence. The horror he has kept at bay, rises up and threatens to swallow him.

The weight of everything that has happened pushes him down and he spills to his knees in front of her and he clutches her close. He hides a choked sob, a dirty and strangled sound, in her robes.

Rukia cradles his head close to her heart and runs her fingers soothingly through his hair. "Your sisters and your friends are not in their right mind, so we had to leave. They will not be hurt. It is you he wants and I will not deliver you to him." After a moment, she adds softly, "You will save them."

_I can't_ he wants to choke out _not this time_, but for the shame of it, he can't find his voice. He looks up and sees himself reflected in her eyes, in the FullBring suit which makes a mockery of him and everything that he is. Her soft blue eyes gaze at him, keen and wise, she reads the depths of him like no one else. He is naked as he kneels before her.

"You can," she says firmly. Her low voice is as soft and smooth as velvet, as strong and indisputable as steel.

_I'm here beside you, I am here for you_, she seems to say wordlessly as she cups his face gently and slides her hand under his chin. Gently, she pulls upward. _Get up...fight...win_, she seems to say.

Shakily, he rises to his feet, feeling the strength coming back to his legs.

"You can," she asserts again. "Because I _know_ you. If there is no way, you will make one. You _will_ save your family and friends and bring them back. You _will_ defeat Tsukishima."

"Yeah," he says and realizes with sudden clarity that he will, not because he is strong or powerful, but because she believes that he can. The utmost faith and trust she holds in him allows him to become the man she sees in her heart.

"Yeah," he says again, stronger this time, with more resolve. "I don't need you to tell me that."

"Good," she says peering up at him, smiling a little. "That's what I wanted to hear."

She places the glowing sword in his hand. "What do you think of it?"

"I have no idea," he says. The careful, intimate way in which she held it makes him think ownership, though it was his father that carried it to the mansion. "Is it yours?"

"In so much that Urahara made it from my reiatsu, yes," she answers in that enigmatic Rukia-esque way of hers that never used to fail at annoying him.

It's funny how he finds it endearing now. "What does it do?" he asks turning it in his hands.

"Do?" she echoes absently and looks at him and takes a deep breath. "It is a blade that will cut your future away. What it will do is give you an option, a choice."

Ichigo thinks about Tsukishima's blade which cuts the past. Is this the weapon Rukia had brought for him, had made for him out of herself? His hand tightens around the hilt. "What are the options?"

"You can become a shinigami again," she says and there is a weighty pause, "but it will burn away all the years you have remaining in your human life. There will be no going back after this."

"I'll do it," he says without hesitation, fire burning in his eyes.

"Wait," she says agitated, "don't you want more time to think about this?"

"I've had nearly two years to think about this and there is nothing I want more," his voice is low and intense as he looks at her.

She returns his look with one of equal force. "There will be no room for regret, once you are shinigami."

"Once I'm a shinigami, I will have no regrets," he assures her. "So, how does this work?"

Whatever she sees in his eyes satisfies her. She scoffs lightly and places her hands on her hips, tilting her chin in that prideful, superior way of hers. "You act like you've never done this before."

After a brief argument about the best way to do things, they decide on this familiar scenario, Rukia holding the bright sword in front of her, and him standing before her, gripping her small hands in his, with the sword point poised above his heart.

"Are you ready? Do you really want to do this?" she asks, hands still.

"How many times are you going to keep asking me? I'm not going to change my mind, so just shut up and do it!" He can't quell the nervous energy coursing through him.

Without further ado, she thrusts the blade through him and into his heart. His face is a picture of wide eyed surprise.

And then he begins to burn. At first, it is a pleasantly warm tingle, and then it is a mild sunburnt feverish feeling and soon enough he feels like there is fire licking across his skin, and his whole body is boiling from the inside out. Ichigo grits his teeth to keep from screaming aloud.

Rukia is still holding onto the blade that protrudes obscenely out of his chest. The look she gives him is that of tight determination, stubbornness and reassurance that things are going as they should. The sword in his chest glows brighter and brighter, even as he is burning away. It starts to take a familiar shape, a giant cleaver with no guard and a cloth wrapped hilt.

Rukia pulls on it, draws it out of him and yells, "Wake up Zangetsu!" His body is consumed in a white hot flash of fire, and Ichigo's life fades from him.

oOooOooOo

_March on._

In the end, there is nothing left of his body but a pile of fine gray ashes which Rukia has painstakingly gathered into a jar.

To his unspoken question, she says in an uncharacteristically shy but sincere voice, "Well it's your body, what's left of it...I thought you might want to keep it."

He is a death god now, and his body now means little more to him than a cast-off shell for his spirit, but he smiles warmly at such a human consideration from Rukia who has been a shinigami far longer than he has been alive.

Ichigo flexes his hand, his arms, his legs, and marvels at the lightness and the speed of reflexes that he never knew he missed. He holds his sword, Zangetsu, his partner in arms in front of him and lays his forehead to the flat surface, closing his eyes. He feels like he is greeting a dear friend.

"Hey, old man. Are you ready for another fight?" he asks softly. He feels the sword hum in joyful acquiescence and barely constrained power.

"Are you ready?" Rukia asks. He nods, and with nothing weighing them down, they fly out into the night.

"I'm going to defeat that bastard," Ichigo states, reiatsu flaring in anticipation of a fight.

"Of course," Rukia says, matter-of-factly as if no other answer would be suitable.

He looks over at her, and the smile she flashes him is grim and bloodthirsty and transforms her face into something fierce and beautiful.

Everything feels clear and _right_, and his world now feels as though it has snapped back into focus. His smile matches hers.

"I remember now, why I wanted my to get my powers back."

**Fin**

* * *

><p><strong>* <strong>Bonds can also mean restraints, shackles, fetters.


	6. Compliment

Compliment

**Summary/Theme:**

Compliment- From her, they don't come cheap.

**A/N:** I can't help but think about Isshin and Masaki and the only time she commented on his looks. I find myself wondering, what kind of compliments would Rukia give to Ichigo?

As usual thanks everyone who reviewed! I am very grateful:

**curio cherry, SilverStella, chOOnyOung17, amehoshi141, Mokimoki-chan, Nivek01, CJ, sallythedestroyerofworlds23**

**Timeline:** Post-Bleach

**Warnings:** Extremely short drabble. Rated T for slight innuendo.

* * *

><p>"I didn't know you wore glasses."<p>

Ichigo looked up from his book. "I don't. These are just for reading."

"You look cute," Rukia remarked, giving him a coy look.

"Really?" Ichigo was surprised, this was the first time Rukia ever made a positive compliment about his looks.

"Yeah...in a really nerdy way," she said eyes glinting with mischievous amusement.

"Tch!" Ichigo's face fell as he scowled. Rukia was the master of backhanded compliments. He should have known better, but he walked right into that one.

He went back to his reading, determined to ignore her. Suddenly the book was ripped out of his hands and tossed carelessly to the floor.

"What the hell-" he began angrily, but the protest died almost immediately.

Rukia was perched in his lap, one strap of her dress slipping off her pale delicate shoulder. Her half-lidded, smoky indigo eyes looked at him with a smoldering heat. "Lose the clothes, nerd," she said in her low husky voice. "But keep the glasses."

As a slow lazy smile made its way across his face, Ichigo thought that maybe it wasn't such a backhanded compliment after all.

* * *

><p>Ichigo with glasses- hot or not?<p>

What about Rukia?


	7. Scar

**Summary/Theme:**

Scar- Some things cut through muscle and skin, and other things cut through memory, but either way, if it keeps, it's a memento.

**A/N:** While I'm not surprised that Ichigo in glasses has met with unanimous approval...but Rukia? C'mon...sexy librarian glasses...she can rock it.

To everyone following this series of one-shots and drabbles and everyone who has added this story to their favorites/alerts list, thank you! In particular, thanks to:

**Wheatieluv, Kuroi-cho-tsuki-shiro ,Vera Rozalsky , Hese Solstis , sallythedestroyerofworlds23 , Mokimoki-chan , xxbooradleyxx , CJ, broken emerald , choonyoung17, Poisonfish**

You all made my day, thanks so much!

**Timeline:** Pre-SS, Karakura

**Warnings: **Not of the humor variety.

* * *

><p>It had been a surprisingly uneventful day- meaning no hollow attacks during school. Even Ochi-sensei was astounded that there were no interruptions, and all day long, she watched Ichigo and Rukia like a hawk. Lessons proceeded as usual and Rukia could feel Ichigo's reiatsu simmering with restless energy, which meant he was bored out of his mind. With nothing left to do, he and Rukia headed home- him to do homework, and her to lounge out on his bed and read manga.<p>

The shinigami duties really seemed to have grown on him, though Rukia was sure Ichigo would never admit it. She was proud of the way he shouldered the burdens and did as much as she could to help him. Unless she was quite mistaken, it seemed he had begun to like them, to depend on the thrill of hollow hunting and soul burials to break up the monotony of his life.

Rukia had told him that it was only a matter of time before she recovered her powers, and when she did, she would inevitably leave and go back to her world, there was an inexplicable moment of sadness that flitted across his face. And then it was back to business as usual, namely bickering over who should get the shower first.

Despite the lines he fed her about ruining his life, reputation, etcetera (ad nauseum), maybe just maybe, it seemed he might miss her. Just a little. Rukia did not allow herself to wonder if she would miss him as well. The living had no place on the other side of the border. Neither did sentimentality.

Ichigo finished his last set of problems with a sigh and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head.

"Hey Rukia," he began.

"Hm?" she said, indicating she was listening, but wasn't about to look up from her manga.

Ichigo's brow was furrowed in concentration as he thought about what to ask. "Hypothetically speaking, when you get your powers back, can you come back to Karakura?"

Rukia quirked an eyebrow at him. This line of questioning was new. She wondered where it came from. "Hypothetically? I guess so. Realistically, I'll go where they send me. Orders are orders." Rukia didn't bother to tell him that she had committed a felony by giving him her powers, and would likely be courtmartialed immediately upon her return to Soul Society. She had no doubt that they would eventually find out.

"Oh," Ichigo said dipping his head down. She couldn't see the expression in his eyes because they were shadowed under his bangs. Shrugging to herself uneasily, she went back to her manga. There was no use in thinking in hypotheticals or what ifs- she already had a good idea what her eventual fate would be.

She would be disgraced, perhaps disowned. Jail time might be the least of her problems. They might strip her of her position in the Gotei 13, not that there was much honor that they could take from her, unranked as she was, but being a shinigami was the only thing that mattered in her life. Hunting hollows and purifying them was the only way she could repent. There would be no visits to the human world for a long time. Ichigo need not know. It wasn't his business to worry about. She shook her broodiness away and tried to concentrate on the plot of the manga.

Ichigo tapped the eraser of his pencil against his notebook. It was a broken, jumpy, disjointed beat. "After you recover your powers, couldn't you stay in the human world? I mean like in a gigai or something?"

"No," she said, because it was illegal to mingle or get close to humans. And no one was allowed to remain indefinitely in the human world. "Why would I need a gigai after I regain my powers? I can shed this clumsy thing. It's heavy and it holds me down." She missed the freedom, the speed and ease of movement, and the cold clarity of being a shinigami.

Being a human, something she had no memory of before, was stifling. Having a physical body made every feeling so much more acute, every temperature, touch, taste, and smell, was overwhelming. It was intoxicating and new, and Rukia was all too aware of enjoying it a little too much. The escapism of pretending to be a human was as seductive as it was dangerous. Every day, Rukia had to remind herself of who and what she truly was, and she held herself aloof, knowing that there was blood on her hands.

Ichigo looked at her strangely. "Don't you miss it? Being alive again, having a body?"

"How can I miss something I've never known?" Rukia's cool expressionless face gave nothing away. "I have no memories of being alive. I died as a young child."

Ichigo's eyes widened in shock as he stared at her. "That explains a lot," he muttered to himself under his breath.

There was a light of something in his eyes...pity? Sympathy, maybe? Rukia brushed it aside, irritably. She had revealed too much and suddenly felt unclothed. She crossed her arms around her, pulling on her austere Kuchiki dignity like a cloak.

"I don't need you to feel sorry for me," she said tersely and for a long moment, they were each lost in their own thoughts.

Ichigo swiveled in his chair and faced her. "If you could, if you were allowed or whatever, would you stay in the human world?" he asked, brown eyes searching hers earnestly. Outside the window, the last rays of light from the setting sun were consumed by darkness as the incoming night rolled across the sky.

Ichigo was not being his usual prickly, outspoken self. It set her on edge. A quiet Ichigo meant a thoughtful Ichigo, which in turn meant a dangerous Ichigo because there was no telling what kind of thoughts were tumbling around getting polished in that idiot orange head of his.

She wanted to know what was bothering him. And that was the problem. Rukia was beginning to like him in the same way she had once begun to like that Rukongai stray, Renji, to think of him as a friend. The thing was, Ichigo wasn't a stray. He had a life and a family here that she wasn't a part of, except by forced circumstance. She put aside the manga and sat up in his bed one leg tucked under the other.

"If I could?" _In a heartbeat_, her mind traitorously whispered. "Maybe. There are a lot of interesting things in the human world. What's with the twenty questions, Ichigo?"

He frowned at her, the hard lines between his brows gouging deep into his forehead. For a long moment, he didn't answer, just glared at her. Rukia waited, curious and patient.

"Hypothetically speaking," he said pausing heavily, "will you have to erase my memories when it comes time for you to leave?"

Rukia blinked in astonishment. Of all the things to ask...this is what had him worried, she surmised. "What do you think?" she parried with her own question to hide her surprise.

She was spared from hearing his response because her phone chose that moment to start beeping rapidly. "Hollow, very close," she said, springing up from the bed, one hand on the windowsill.

Ichigo was already peeling out of his limp body at the first beep. "Let's go," he said.

When Ichigo was in his human body, he was all lanky arms and legs with awkwardly large hands and feet that he had yet to grow into. Tall, thin, and angular, he hadn't filled the full frame of his body. He was boyishly handsome, with hair so bright that the image of him was always burned into her brain, right behind her eyes.

When he was in shinigami form, he was magnificent. There was nothing awkward about him. The black cloth that draped over broad shoulders, wrapped around his tapered waist, and fell in pleats and folds around his legs suit him well. When he stood tall before her, brimming with power and the desire to protect, there was nothing boyish in him. It was his resolve and stubborn determination to let nothing stand in his way that truly made him a shinigami and he moved with a deadly grace, like a shinigami born, not made.

Rukia felt something something unfold and flutter within her. It was something akin to pride, fondness perhaps. She brushed the emotion aside. It was inconvenient and she knew better than to get attached. She couldn't afford to feel. Feelings were unnecessary encumbrances to gods of death.

"Remember our training," she said to him without taking her eyes from the materializing hollow, "timing is everything. If you can't get it in one strike, it will get messy."

"Heard you the first time. I got it!" he said with a confident smirk as he rushed at the hollow.

"Somehow, I doubt that," she murmured as she watched the battle unfold.

Ichigo approached fights as he did most things in life- recklessly. He was not fighting in top form tonight and it showed when his swings went too wide, leaving him open to counterattack.

The hollow was small and agile, some sort of two legged beast with inverted hind legs and wicked sickle-shaped blades for claws that gleamed sharply in the light of the moon. The hollow's long reach, coupled with its speed was slowly driving Ichigo into a tight corner. Ichigo hit the thing in the faceplate with the pommel of his sword and it roared, reeling back, momentarily stunned. He leapt into the air bringing his large sword down in what he intended to be a finishing blow.

Rukia watched as the shining arc of the sword carved through the night. The timing was off, he was too slow. There was a flash of claws and Ichigo was sent skidding backwards, using his sword as a support.

"Ichigo!" she yelled. Rivulets of blood slipped down the dark folds of his hakama.

She ran past him, kido spell flying from her lips and exploding out of her hands. She didn't wait for the smoke to clear, using her smaller size and faster speed to press her advantage. Dodging the flailing claws by sliding under the hollow, she kipped her body up and drove her heels underneath its jaws, knocking it backwards. One of the claws raked through the soft flesh of her arm, and there was a stinging pain followed by a spurt of blood.

"Rukia! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Ichigo yelled from somewhere behind her.

"Giving you an opening, fool! Finish it!" she screamed. The hollow was having a hard time getting to its feet, unhurt, but stunned by the kido.

Ichigo flashed past her, a blur in black. Raising his sword, he cleaved the hollow in half, obliterating it completely. Immediately after, he dropped into a crouch, leaning on his sword and panting heavily. Blood slowly dotted the ground beneath him.

Rukia got up and walked carefully over to him. Her body felt shaky from kido usage. _At this rate_, she thought, _I am not recovering anywhere near what I need. _An icy cold sliver of fear slipped down her spine. What if she never recovered? She looked at Ichigo, whose breathing hitched sharply. Now wasn't the time to be contemplating 'what ifs'.

Kneeling in front of him, she assessed his damage. His uniform was torn diagonally, exposing a deep gash from his left shoulder down to his right hip.

"Hurts like a bitch," Ichigo hissed, touching the wound and wincing in pain.

"Your timing was off, and you left yourself wide open," Rukia scolded as she leaned closer to get a better look at the wound.

"Just for one night, can you lay off the damn lecturing?" he sniped, the pain making him even touchier than usual.

"If you listened to me, I wouldn't have to lecture you," she retorted automatically. They glared at each other.

Rukia's eyes softened. "Regardless, you did well, rookie. That was a speed type hollow, and they're hard to deal with, unless you team up with someone."

"Lucky we make a good team," he said with a crooked grin. A moment later, he fell back on his ass in alarm.

"W-What are you doing?" he asked, his red face pulled into a picture of consternation.

Rukia struggled to sweep the kosode off his shoulders. "I'm trying to heal you, stop squirming, you big idiot. I need to see what I'm doing."

"What about you?" he said worriedly, looking at her bleeding arm.

She gave it a negligent glance. "It's just a surface wound. I've had worse."

She fixed him with a gimlet stare. "If I don't heal you now, you're going to end up with a permanent scar. How will you ever explain that, hm?"

Ichigo frowned at her, and reluctantly opened his kosode, shrugging it off his shoulders, looking away from her as she began her healing.

She could see even in the dark, his face, embarrassed and red. Rukia laughed to herself. "So modest," she commented. "Relax, it's nothing I haven't seen before."

"Shaddup," he snapped irritably, as she chucked.

Rukia's expertise in kido meant that she was frequently a back-up medic in her squad. She had healed many people over the course of her career in the 13th and never once looked upon anyone with anything more than cold clinical appreciation for anatomy. Certainly, Ichigo had nothing that she hadn't seen before, a million times before, on a battlefield or her squad's training grounds.

But as she knelt before him in the dead of night with moonlight and the soft green glow of kido washing over them both, he half clothed and she with her hands hovering over his bare skin, covered in blood, both his and hers, she couldn't help the thought that this was more intimate than anything she had ever done. Shoving the thought back into the recesses of her mind, she concentrated instead on knitting his muscles and skin back together until there was nothing but a light scratch.

"There, I've done as much as I can tonight," she said, panting exhaustedly. "There should be no trace of the wound, come morning." She would have fallen over or slumped backwards if not for her dignity as a Kuchiki holding her spine straight. The kido had drained her completely and her knees felt like limp wet noodles.

Ichigo touched his nearly unblemished chest where the nasty gash had spanned it just moments ago. His face had dropped into a light frown, his default expression, but his brown eyes looked at her in thanks and appreciation, and something else, a touch of something soft and as of yet, unnamed.

"I wouldn't have minded," he said slowly, voice somewhat rough edged and husky as if he were just voicing a thought that wasn't fully realized.

"Minded what?" Rukia asked absently. Her mind was sending signals to her legs to get up, but for the moment, her body was disobeying her. How annoying.

"A scar," he said.

"That's stupid," she replied, her eyes narrowing in annoyance at him.

He was merely a substitute shinigami; she had crashed into his life, bringing blood and violence with her. The least she could do is make sure that none of this permanently marked him, scarred him in any way. Rukia knew a bit about scars and the kinds that never go away. She wanted to leave his life quietly, without a trace.

There was a light of understanding behind his warm brown eyes. "I know you don't owe me anything," he said quietly, "but could you leave me something to remember this by?"

Rukia tilted her head down, hair shadowing her expression. "If you're worried that I'm going to erase your memories, you can rest at ease. The memory eraser doesn't work on shinigami. Imagine what a disaster it would be if it did."

"Still," he said quietly, rubbing the back of his head and looking away. "It's a memento."

"That's stupid," she repeated faintly. "Fool. If I let you keep them, you'd have a million scars, as careless as you are."

Instead of getting angry, he merely gave her a shrug and a small smile. "I think I can rock the scarred look."

She didn't understand the slang of the modern age, but the context was enough for her to get what he meant, so she rolled her eyes.

Ichigo held his hand out for her to grab and Rukia looked up at him. His orange hair was muted in the scant light of the moon. The dark folds of the shihakusho clung to the lean angular lines of his body. It looked good on him, fit him like he was made for it. Or born to it. Something strange and undefinable lit up within the depths of her frozen heart. Rukia shook her head to clear out the vague thoughts and strange feelings coalescing within her.

With an easy pull, Ichigo slung Rukia onto his back. It was always faster to travel that way, and Rukia was in no shape to walk, so she didn't complain.

Ichigo craned his head back and looked at her over his shoulder. "You're bleeding all over me," he remarked.

"Tough, deal with it," she said tiredly.

Rukia woke in up in Ichigo's bed to sunlight streaming in from his bedroom window. She must have passed out from fatigue sometime before they returned to the Kurosaki household because she had no recollection of ever getting there. Ichigo was nowhere to be seen. As she sat up, she noticed that her arm was clumsily wrapped in a gauze bandage.

She touched it gently, barest hint of a smile on her lips. "Fool," she murmured quietly. In the muddled grogginess of the morning, she wasn't sure if she was referring to him or to herself.

* * *

><p><strong>AN, part deux:** When I first started this series, I thought it would be a quick foray into the Bleach fandom...but little did I know how addictive it would become! Thanks so much for sticking with me. I have now run out of finished material, but I still plan to write 3 more chapters for this series (mostly because I like round numbers, they're tidy and appeal to my OCD nature.) Two of them are 'in process'. After this chapter, I will go on a long hiatus, so there will be no more updates for a while.

A preview for next two chapters (not in any particular order of appearance):

i. **Summary: **Debt- Desperate to find a mysterious woman and repay a life debt, Ichigo enlists in the help of the local town witch. [AU]

ii. **Summary: **Be Nice- Ishida, tired of Ichigo and Rukia's constant arguing challenges them to be nice to each other for a day. Can they do it?

Cheers,

Truant


	8. Routine

**Summary**: Routine- It's only fair; she interrupted his life, so he gets to interrupt her death. A 'what if' take on if Rukia had chosen a human life. AU.

**A/N**: First of all, big apologies to whoever is still following this series. Life is quite crazy for me right now and I haven't as much time to write as I would have liked. This isn't what I had promised to put up, but it's a little thing that I wrote while stewing on the other two chapters. Still working on 'Be Nice' and 'Debt'. They're going to be long. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, even though this isn't what I had promised. There may be more chapters than promised for 'Sorry'. I'd say, perhaps up to 12-15, if you aren't tired of this series by then.

As usual thanks to everyone who has put me on their favorites, alerts list, and special thanks to everyone who has reviewed:

**Vera Rozalsky, sallythedestroyerofworlds23, amehoshi141, Mokimoki-chan, teshichan, BlondeEmo, Kuroi-cho-tsuki-shiro, chOOnyOung17, CJ, chocobojockey16, xxbooradleyxx, curio cherry, Insane Fangirl 4, **

Thank you so much!

**Warnings**: T for _heavy_ innuendo.

**Standard ****Disclaimer:** Bleach is solely the property of Kubo Tite, and I am merely borrowing his playground.

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><p>In a moment of extreme weakness, he asks her to stay. And she does.<p>

"For a little while," she had whispered in the darkness, as he pressed his lips to her collarbone. "I can't stay in your closet forever."

"It doesn't matter," he had whispered back, closing his eyes as her small hand skimmed over his hot skin.

_You __can__ stay __however __long__ you __want. __I__'__ll __take__ what __time__ you __can __give __me_, he thought. He had shamed himself once already, so he hadn't said those things aloud. As always, she knew his thoughts anyway.

'For a little while', turned out longer than he expected, more than he had hoped for. He graduated, got a job. He married her. It was a scandal, because they were young, and everyone thought the worst, though they were far from reckless.

"Don't do this because you think you owe me," she had said frowning. "I don't need this."

_But__ I__ do._ Out loud he said, "We're way past owing each other these days." She changed his world, changed _him_, gave him the power to protect, to live up to his namesake, to recover that part of him that died on the same day that his mother died. He couldn't imagine keeping up with the speed of a world without her in it. She knows his whole heart, each and every shadowed corner, and he knows hers as well, brave and kind, lonely and untainted.

There was no white dress. No celebration, no reception, just him and her and his family. Her brother turned a blind eye to them and he thought that it might be the closest thing to an approval that he would ever get. It was a civil ceremony and their only wedding picture sits on the mantle above their television. She wore a smart navy blue dress, and it was the only time he ever wore a suit.

His tie was askew in the picture, and the wind had whipped her hair around her face. They're standing on the front steps of the courthouse, both looking at the camera with expressions too serious to suit the newly wed. There is a sliver of sky behind them and they stand no closer than they usually do, but their hands are intertwined.

They settle into lives as normal humans. He doesn't see ghosts anymore, and neither does she. She's an exile now. A dead woman living in fake flesh. Her second chance at a real life that she had never got to experience before.

The years are flying by like a dream. He tries to be the best living world guide there is, and she is the most adaptable person he had ever known. But sometimes, her gaze is unfocused and hazy and it hits him hard like a punch to the gut, that she has a whole lifetime of memories before him. This life is bright and noisy, burns too hard and too fast and death is a never-ending eternity. He wonders whether she feels at home here away from her family, her friends, cut off from her power, just as he is cut off from his.

"Do you miss it?" he asks her frequently, hating how the question sounds, hating how he needs the answer, hating his own neediness.

"Always, but..." she never voices the rest of that thought as she pulls him down to her, as he presses his body closer to hers. He knows it anyway. _I__ would__ have__ missed __you__ more_.

Afterward, he always holds her close, runs his fingers through her soft dark hair that slips through his hand like cool dust. She looks frail and otherworldly in moonlight, like a shadow that could slip away without a trace, and he remembers, reminds himself that while he held his sword, he could protect, but he could never embrace. They have chosen a fleeting moment of peace; it is something they've earned and paid for in blood. There will be time for more blood and violence and an eternity of never-ending duty later. For once, they both have two feet in one world and this is where they belong right now. This is where their hearts are.

He doesn't regret interrupting her death, he tells her.

"It's only fair," he says as he kisses the curve of her pale shoulder, "you interrupted my life."

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><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


	9. Safe Sex

**Summary/Theme:**

Safe Sex- As usual, Rukia has laughs at Ichigo's expense.

The theme for myself was- something funny.

**A/N:** I haven't forgotten about this series, I swear...'Be Nice' got scrapped. It's not much but have a crackfic instead

And THANK YOU all SO much for reading, even though these one-shots don't come in any particular order and is basically just a story dump for any old idea I get. Thanks to everyone who keeps reading my stuff, putting me on favorites, alerts lists, and in particular, leaving reviews, telling me what worked, what didn't:

**, curio cherry, amehoshi141, Vera Rozalsky** (thanks for the writing bouts, it made _this_ happen and a few other things besides), **Poisonfish, Mokimoki-chan, sallythedestroyerofworlds23, LunaBianca, Kayla12000, Kuroi-cho-tsuki-shiro**

**Timeline:** Anywhere you want. You decide.

**Warnings:** HEAVY innuendo, nothing graphic. Solid T, through and through. Crack humor.

**Standard Disclaimer:** Bleach is solely the property of Kubo Tite, and I am merely borrowing his playground.

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><p>"Dammit, we don't have any protection," he manages to murmur in between kisses. Ichigo is pretty sure his face is so red, he's incandescent, but he has to speak up, because he's a doctor's son, an all around decent guy, and it's Rukia- the girl he loves.<p>

"From...Hollows?" she asks distractedly, nipping at the hard line of his throat.

He groans and claps a hand to his face. "Are you SERIOUSLY thinking about Hollows right now?" Deliberately, he cocks an eyebrow and looks down between them.

Rukia follows his line of vision. "Oh. Oh!" she says, eyes widening in comprehension.

"Yeah," he says ruefully, face red and blotchy, grateful that he doesn't have to use a lot of _words_.

"What do you mean you don't have any protection?" Rukia asks, drawing back aghast. "That's abnormal for a modern guy of your age."

"Where the _hell_ are you getting your information?" An irritated vein thumps on his forehead.

"That doesn't matter," she waves her hand vaguely, and Ichigo suspects hentai manga. Rukia calls it, 'research', but Ichigo thinks that under her prim exterior she's just as curious as any other shinigami about modern day perversions. Maybe more. "Your lack of preparation shocks me."

"Like I said, I don't get many visitors," Ichigo says, giving her a significant look.

"Lucky for you, I am prepared enough for the both of us," Rukia says, smirking superiorly as she pulls out a foil package out of nowhere, like a magician with a coin trick.

Ichigo spares only a moment to wonder how she manages things like that without a stitch of clothing on before he focuses on the package itself. A hot pink rabbit smiles cheerfully back at him.

"No way!" he yells crossing his arms in an 'X' in front of him.

"It's Chappy brand," Rukia says, eyes glinting with mischief, "the most trusted prophylaxis among the Shinigami Women's Association."

He considers the brightly colored package Rukia dangles in front of him for a moment with an evil look before snatching it out of her hands. He's not in the mood to argue, OR walk a block to the nearest convenience store.

_Moments later..._

Rukia's smoky eyes gleam with feminine appreciation.

Ichigo twitches like a person on the verge of apoplexy. "...WHY IS IT PINK?"

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><p>Fu, fu, fu...hit or miss? I can never tell if my sense of humor is funny to other people...<p> 


	10. Resemblance

**Summary**: Ichigo wonders just who Rukia sees when she looks at him. Whether it's truly him she sees or if she's looking through him into her past.

**A/N:** Surprise update! Don't get used to it... Would you believe I've had this one on my computer since Oct.? I didn't like it, so I didn't post. After a while I forgot about it, and then something reminded me. Fixed a few things, so here it is. Cheers!

Again, thanks to everyone who put this on their fav. list, author/story alerts, and most especially to everyone who left a review on what worked, etc:

**Jiru sama** (somehow ffn didn't let me add you last time)**, Vera Rozalsky, chocobojockey16, Poofa, curio cherry, amehoshi141, LunaBianca, sallythedestroyerofworlds23, Mokimoki-chan, Lunacat13, Wheatieluv, Estella May** (thanks for the translations)**, Kuroi-cho-tsuki-shiro**

**Timeline:** End of SS arc.

**Warnings:** None!

**Standard Disclaimer:** Bleach is solely the property of Kubo Tite, and I am merely borrowing his playground.

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><p>He's seen the picture of that man in a shrine at the Shibas, and the resemblance is startling. It was as if they were long lost brothers. It's strange to know that a dead man wore almost the same face as he does, and even stranger still that Rukia never says a word about it. He wonders whether Rukia sees him as himself, or whether she sees someone else when she looks upon him.<p>

One afternoon while they are still in Soul Society, in his usual tactless fashion, he broaches the subject with her.

"Who was he?" he asks as they're sitting on the rooftops of the Thirteenth division overlooking the training quad.

She turns to him with a puzzled look. "Who?"

"That guy, that everyone says I look like," Ichigo says, with his characteristic scowl planted firmly on his face. He looks straight ahead, pretends to be bored, but furtively he looks at her from the corner of his eye.

Her whole body stiffens, but just slightly, and if he hadn't been watching her so closely, if he hadn't gotten to know her as he did, he might have missed the sudden tightness of her shoulders as they pulled inward toward her body, the slight tremor that ran through her.

"Kaien...dono," Rukia says so softly that he finds himself leaning toward her to catch the sound. She whispers his name as if it pains her to say it, and her gaze is directed at the ground, looking through it and into memories full of blood and rain.

Ichigo clears his throat, and her eyes snap to his, and for one moment, he is ensnared in the anguish within her, and then Rukia blinks and suddenly he can't read her and she looks up at him with the most un-Rukia like placid expression that he had ever seen on her face. He decides he doesn't like it.

"You don't have to say anything...if you don't want to. But if or when you want to...I'll listen," he says shrugging, trying to repeat the words that she told him in what seemed like a lifetime ago. He realizes, with an internal wince how less eloquent he sounds. He wants to tell her that he'll be there for her, to listen to her whenever she feels ready to confide in him. That he'll hold whatever she tells him in strictest confidence, because he too, carries memories of blood and rain. He wants to tell her that she can count on him. But he's still young and he hasn't the words to adequately convey how he feels. Ichigo thinks he should really work on his delivery.

When he chances a sideways glance at her, the look she gives him is soft, less the anguish and more...something. Something unreadable, mysterious, and intriguing. He decides he likes it.

"Kaien-dono was my mentor...vice-captain of the Thirteenth. Everyone in our squad loved him..." she says trailing off.

_And I killed him._ Ichigo finishes for her in his mind. He knows at least this much. He waits but she says nothing more. For now, this is all she is willing to tell him, and he's grateful, but his mind is still full of questions. Questions he will NOT ask. He won't do that to her. She, like he, values personal privacy and he respects that. He respects that she will not track mud and dirt into his heart and he is determined to do the same.

She glances over at him, favors him with yet another unreadable expression in her eyes. "There is some resemblance," she says faintly, almost as if she were speaking to herself. Her eyes, half-shuttered under long sooty lashes, roam his face, mapping out the differences, or worst yet, the similarities.

"I'm not him," he says, steadily holding her gaze, feeling as if he should make that clear. Whatever or whoever Kaien was to Rukia, Ichigo wants to clarify that he isn't him. He has never wanted to stand out for his differences; from his oddly colored hair to his ability to see ghosts, those differences have brought him nothing but grief. But for some reason...just this once he wants to stand out as someone unforgettable and unique. The singular distinction he wants to make is important somehow, though it's difficult to explain why.

Rukia makes an exasperated noise in the back of her throat, but in her eyes, he sees quiet understanding. In her bossiest and most assertive voice, she says loudly, "Of course. You're nothing like him. Kaien was Kaien. Ichigo, you are you."

And just like that, the uneasiness in him has disappeared. He sits there quietly, just looking at her.

She has this mischievous expression on her face. He decides he likes this too, even as it makes him wary. It gives him a strange anticipatory feeling in his gut.

"You'll always be Ichigo to me," she says, finally looking off into the distant horizon. There's an undercurrent of some deep emotion running through her low voice. "Foolish Ichigo..."

"Rukia..." his eyebrow twitches in annoyance. The teasing edge in her voice takes away any sting the insults might have had.

"...stingy, rude, reckless... just stupid enough to rescue someone who said they didn't want to be rescued, and not smart enough to run away when he's told. She looks directly at him, meets his gaze with her own. There's gratitude there, and guilt, and a whole host of other emotions that flicker behind her eyes too quickly for him to catch.

"Do you always thank your saviors by insulting them?" he grouses.

"Who says I'm trying to thank you?" she scoffs crossing her arms.

Ichigo huffs and decides to ignore her, but it's hard when there is such an impish glint in her eyes.

"You really are an idiot you know," she says softly. This time there is no mistaking the undercurrent of affection in her soft husky voice. "You could have died. I bet the thought never even crossed your thick skull."

"But I didn't," he drawls, chin jutting out stubbornly. "So you can just shut it," he adds, rubbing his hand through her hair.

"Don't get so cocky!" she says, planting an elbow in his side.

The usual bickering ensues, interspersed with sporadic bits of warm, fond violence. Rukia is not quite laughing, but there is a smile on her face. Ichigo decides he likes this most of all.


	11. Let's make this easy

**A/N:** Hello again! You'll notice by now that I'm no good at updating regularly...

Also, thank you to everyone who added me to their Author Alerts, Favs list, and in particular thank you to everyone who reviewed and came with constructive criticism, or compliments, or even complaints. It was much more than I expected from this very humble, and soon to be finished series of one-shot stories.

**Summary/Theme:** "All we have to do is make room."

**Rating: **G

**Standard Disclaimer:** Bleach is solely the property of Kubo Tite, and I am merely borrowing his playground.

* * *

><p>Every now and then, she's reminded that this false body isn't hers. It's on loan, and she's only playing at life, because she has been dead for a long time, after all.<p>

When she looks at people of the living world, she is reminded that there are real bones under their skin. Her's is a shell, a facsimile with all of the likeness of life, but none of the substance. There is nothing under her skin except her spirit and this world isn't meant for one like her.

There is a barbecue at the park. Everyone makes their way over to the picnic table like a well choreographed dance. As they all find their places, she hovers under the shade of the trees, unsure if there's any room left for her.

"Oi, Rukia," Ichigo calls loudly, glancing over at her and talking with his mouth half-full.

Part of her wonders what her esteemed brother would say about his table manners.

"You just going to stand there, or are you going sit down and eat?"

"Won't it get too crowded?" she asks, shrugging. "I'm fine here." And really, she is fine. She is used to being a bystander, sitting on the fringes of groups, content to watch.

Ichigo gives her an inscrutable look before moving over towards Ishida, who warns him in a loud voice- to please close his mouth when he chews, and that if he so much as sprays a tiny speck of sauce on his shirt, he'll be picking up the tab on his dry cleaning.

"I didn't think there would be any room," she says to Ichigo as she squeezes in between him and Chad. Her slim shoulders brush up against his. She fits, just barely.

"If there isn't, we make room," he says, shrugging casually. The rest of that sentence hangs between them, fragile and unspoken.

"It's that easy, is it?" she murmurs, as she picks up a hot dog bun.

"Yeah," he says with a quiet confidence, "it is."

Ishida clears his throat irritably. "Kurosaki, are you just going to hold onto the potato salad, or are you actually going to pass it around to the rest of us?"

As Ichigo and Ishida bicker loudly, Tatsuki asks Rukia to pass the bread. Orihime and Chad inquire about Soul Society and things fall into a rhythm that she didn't know she missed. When she closes her eyes, she can feel Ichigo's reiatsu in her mind, a warm solid weight, and she smiles. Perhaps this world doesn't belong to her, but here and now, surrounded by friends and honest laughter, with Ichigo's shoulder strong and steady along her sword arm, this is right. This is where she belongs.

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><p>Thanks for reading.<p> 


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